For All Intents And Purposes
by HallowedInk
Summary: The art of escaping... or maybe living... or maybe just surviving. James/Lucy. Warning: sex, incest.


**For All Intents And Purposes**

_[The art of escaping... or maybe living... or maybe just surviving.]_

"Bloody hell, Lucy!"

Lucy hadn't realised how much she needed to just get away until she crashed into James that one evening in Hogsmeade.

It had been a bad day for her. She'd had detention, but by no fault of her own. In fact, it had been entirely Fowlaire's fault; he had been the one who had sabotaged his own potion, and then he had had the gall to blame it on her!

So she had had detention, scrubbing cauldrons for an hour after dinner. She had another one tomorrow, and the next day. For a week. And she was sure that Professor Samson was picking out the most disgusting cauldrons on purpose. However, that had not been the worst.

Oh no, the worst had been when she had run into Professor Longbottom and Madam Bones on her way back to the common room, and heard Madam Bones – her own Head of House, no less – say in loud tones, "But Lucy's such a sensible girl! I can't believe that she would do this..."

Furious, Lucy had decided that she needed to get away. And fortunately, things had changed greatly since the school days of her Uncle Harry; sixth and seventh years were now allowed out to Hogsmeade any weekend, so long as they made their own way there and returned before curfew.

Friday evenings were considered part of the weekend, so she had dutifully signed herself out with her aforementioned Head of House and stomped off to the beloved village.

Now, not half an hour later, she was kicking stones and throwing a tantrum more suited to a girl half her age.

"Bloody hell!" James cursed again, as one of the stones she kicked hit him in the shin. "Merlin, girl. You're dangerous!"

He was not helping.

They were up on the hill where the Shrieking Shack – now three parts legend and only one part myth – stood. James had found her there, but she was not very sure how.

Who knew; maybe he had come to vent, too.

James and Lucy were, with the obvious exception of Victoire and Dominique, the oldest of the Weasley cousins. They were sixth years now – James was seventeen, Lucy almost so.

Unfortunately, that was where the similarities ended. Lucy was sometimes shy, often genial. A Hufflepuff, through and through. She was named for her mother's mother, who was thankfully not dead, but she was no better for it. The lady was a harpy. Lucy, on the other hand, was undemanding, kind and generous. She was also, curse the word, _sensible_.

James, to be frank, was not. Not just not sensible—he wasn't any of the above. Not generous, not kind, not shy, not genial, and most definitely not sensible. If Lucy had to describe him, there was only one word she would have used, and that was heartless.

His parents asked themselves day after day where they had gone wrong with their eldest.

As for Lucy's parents, well, they despaired. Lucy was such a wonderful girl, they felt, if a little outshined by her eleven-year-old sister Molly. It was such terrible luck that she happened to be in the same school year as that awful James.

"_Whatever you do, stay away from James,"_ was the only piece of advice she had received from her father before she left home for her first year. _"I know we are family, and family should stick together, but this is one time where it might be best to make an exception."_

Largely, that was exactly what Lucy had done. It hadn't been difficult: she was a Hufflepuff and James was a Gryffindor. James was popular, she was shy. James never seemed to have to work for his marks; she spent an inordinate amount of time in the library. In fact, the only time she ever saw him was at prefect meetings.

She really didn't know why he had come up to her today.

Nevertheless, he was here, and he had managed to dodge her stones and flailing legs to come up and grab her.

"Dangerous might be an understatement, actually," he grunted as he manhandled her towards a nearby bench. He tossed her down and sat next to her, his wand out. "Am I going to have to curse you, or will you stay?"

Lucy didn't answer, too busy examining the inscription on the bench.

"_In memory of Remus John Lupin, a hero."_

"Teddy's father," James informed her after he had followed her gaze and discovered the reason for her reticence. "Dad waxes lyrical about him. Personally, I don't see the hype. I mean, he was one of the blokes who left Dad to rot with his Aunt and Uncle for eleven years."

"I gather your Dad didn't agree with that sentiment?" Lucy asked back in a shaky voice. She hiccoughed, then pursed her lips tightly together to pretend that she hadn't.

"'Course not." James seemed unaffected, though. As if his disagreements with his father were a regular thing. Lucy supposed, from what she had heard, that they were. James was not exactly a role model in anything he did – not at school, not around the family, so most certainly not at home. The only time he showed any real care for anything was playing Quidditch and then, or so it seemed, only so that he could beat his brother.

"Why are you here?" Lucy asked eventually, relaxing against the back of the bench.

James let go of her slowly, apparently having decided that she was not going to make a break for it or recommence beating him up if she went unrestrained. "I come out here a lot," he murmured, staring into the sunset. "It's a good place to think."

That was true, Lucy realised as she glanced around. When there weren't sixteen-year-old heathens around to throw a tantrum, the little hillock was quite serene. She was also sure that James came here frequently, likely without the necessary permission.

He was glancing at her sideways, and she realised that he was waiting for her to speak.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right."

The James Potter she knew from family gatherings – Christmas, Easter, birthdays, New Year – would have shot her a smug glance and said "I'm always right," or something along those lines. He might have ruffled her hair, treated her like someone who was beneath him, like he did to most of his family. He probably would have come off as an arrogant git.

He would not have given a regretful sigh and fiddled nervously with the fine gold chain around his neck. He most certainly would not have let her go unanswered.

However, that was what he did, and the silence stretched for one minute... two... three, as the sun sank lower and lower in the sky. Eventually, he gave another little sigh and asked in a too-casual tone, "So, what was your tantrum all about then?"

Lucy had spent most of her life trying very hard not to be judgemental, hence why she had been made a Hufflepuff. Therefore, despite the loop James had thrown her, she managed to recover easily and slid immediately into a pout which she had learned from her little sister.

"Apparently, I'm _predictable_."

Now, James smirked. "Ooh, bet that didn't go down well with Spitfire Weasley."

Spitfire? Lucy blinked at him in confusion.

He stared at her for a moment before his expression morphed into incredulity. "You just spent ten minutes trying to beat me up. My shins are never going to look the same. Did you not expect me to give you a name to go with it?"

"Yes, but _Spitfire_?" she managed to splutter out eventually.

"Sure." He shrugged, and went back to his in depth observation of the sunset. The sky was pink and gold, and Lucy's temperament was slowly beginning to match the calm which it exuded.

They sat for a while in silence. Lucy couldn't think of anything to say, and besides she didn't want to ruin the atmosphere. It was the first time she had had a proper conversation with James in her life, and maybe she was almost enjoying the opportunity to disobey her father.

It certainly wasn't predictable, that was for sure.

"Want to do something reckless?" he asked suddenly.

Lucy blinked. "Well... That would depend on what it was..."

And that was how Lucy found herself, for the first time in her short life, properly breaking the rules.

They apparated to Godric's Hollow; well, James apparated her to Godric's Hollow. Lucy had never been very good at apparating.

They reappeared in the magical part of town, however as they walked, their surroundings grew steadily more Muggle, until they were submersed in the non-magical area.

Lucy rarely came to Godric's Hollow. Sure, she had been there before, but her knowledge was confined to the Potter home. As well as that, in her sixteen and a half years she had only once before been into a Muggle area that was not the house of her maternal grandparents. And that one time she had been with both of her parents, and she had been seven.

Of course, Lucy generally followed the rules – and she was pretty sure that, somewhere in there, there was one that prevented her from apparating half way across the country with her least favourite cousin when she was, for all intents and purposes, meant to be in school.

James smirked and grabbed her hand. The sun sank the final stretch until it was below the horizon and twilight started to set in. Around them, the streets were mostly empty.

"How bad are we going to be?"

Looking around, Lucy tried to see things from someone else's perspective. She wanted to be different. That meant that she couldn't think like Lucy Weasley. Or she couldn't think like Lucy Weasley was meant to think. There was a charming boy in her year, a Slytherin named Cedric. Once, she had had to do a Charms project with him, and in a moment of distraction he had tried to explain Death Eater mentality to her.

"_I'm not sure if a large part of it might not have just been the desire to just let the magic loose. Let it take control, set it free..."_

He was a half-blood, unsurprisingly, and he wanted to go into psychology.

Lucy herself was not much interested in psychology, but she was interested in the idea he had presented to her. The idea of letting loose.

Looking around, she spied several things. There was a phone booth, like they had learned about in Muggle Studies. There were several street lights. The street was lined with trees, one of which they were hidden behind.

Smiling grimly, Lucy squeezed James's hand. "Let's let loose. _Completely_."

It was as if James had been waiting for a cue, and that was it. With marvellous and alarming grace, he produced his wand and, in one swift movement, shot a cutting hex at the phone booth.

There was a pause as they watched the passage of the hex across the street. And then—

Crash! The glass on the red booth exploded in every direction, as a fine line painted itself onto the red, which became deeper and deeper until it was a full welt in the metal. The glass clattered and tinkled to the ground.

Adrenaline and exhilaration filled Lucy, sending sparks through her veins. She clutched James's hand tighter, and felt him squeeze back, so hard it hurt. They held their breath, and froze for one second... two...

No one came. There was no thunder, no lightening, no shouts or screams or anything. No one had noticed. They weren't in trouble yet.

They exchanged identical grins and decided to make their own thunder.

Lucy took the left side of the road, James the right, and they marched down it blasting lampposts and post boxes and phone booths. Everything they came across. For a while it didn't matter that Lucy was underage, or that James was the son of the most important wizard in Britain. They marched and laughed and blasted, and _just forgot_.

And the feelings it created for Lucy! The freedom she felt whilst she was doing it was exhilarating like nothing she had ever felt before. She was wild like a dragon – look at her roar! She felt she could fly; swoop and soar like no human could do on a broom. She imagined this was how an animagus felt, perfectly in touch with their animal side, or a Muggle on drugs, or someone who abused Felix Felicis, or—or—

Or all of those mixed together and more. So, so much more.

She was the judge, the jury and the executioner. She was the Muggle God. She was the Queen, or she felt like one at any rate. She was on top of the world. She was power, pure, unadulterated power. Invincible power.

She was—a blasting hex at a post box, once proud and red, now mutilated beyond recognition. And if a Muggle saw, oh, who cared anyway?

"_Obliviate_!"

And the Auror cleanup team would fix it up nice and proper later because, after all, there was nothing magic couldn't do. And if one had it, well then why shouldn't one show it? Why shouldn't one take pride in it? Why not?

Yeah, why not, Dad? Why not, Uncle Harry? Why not, Aunt Hermione, Aunt Ginny, Uncle Ron, Grandma Molly, Uncle George, Aunt Angelina, Aunt Fleur, Uncle Bill, Uncle Charlie, Professor Longbottom, Professor Patil, Madam Bones, Headmistress McGonagall, and everyone else who fought in the war, who fought for peace? Why not?

And in the end, who cares?

When they reached the end of the street, James grabbed her around the middle and, with a laugh that was three parts wild, one part crazy, he apparated again.

They landed in a field; Lucy didn't know where.

"Where... are we?" she panted once she had recovered enough from her high. This, she imagined, was better than drugs. Better than Felix Felicis, which was said to make you feel on top of the world. This was all natural.

"No clue!" James exclaimed back. "I haven't a damn clue!"

She wasn't sure how that worked; didn't you have to know your destination to be able to apparate? But then she saw a railway line.

"Somewhere along the route of the Hogwarts Express?" she guessed.

"Smart girl." James tossed himself down on a bank of grass and lay back. His arms were spread and his eyes were closed. He looked like he didn't have a care in the world.

Funny, that, Lucy thought as she stared down at her cousin. The Hat had never considered putting her in Ravenclaw. She was smart – though nothing close to her little sister, who was an acknowledged genius – but she had never been anything other than a Hufflepuff.

Hers was a different kind of intelligence though, she knew. She wasn't book smart, or extremely logical, or particularly talented. She found things out by observation, by watching people the way she was watching James now. She noticed things, like the rise and fall of his chest as he took deep, steady breaths. The way his red and gold tie fluttered in the slight breeze. The way his messy, curly brown hair, so unlike that of either of his parents, fell around him like a halo and covered his closed eyes – the eyes that she knew were blue, like those of his Uncle Ron, and nothing like the piercing green of his father or the warm brown of his mother. She saw his long, lean body, with the defined muscles gained from seventeen years of an active, sporty lifestyle. She saw all this and she wondered.

Had that Sorting Hat ever considered putting him anywhere else? Was James a Gryffindor through-and-through, like everyone would like to believe? Or was he something else? He was such a strange person, so different to everyone else in the family. Lucy was sure there had to be something else to it.

To him.

As if he had become aware of her scrutiny, James cracked one of his bright, sky-blue eyes open and said, "You going to carry on standing there or what?"

Flushing, Lucy plonked herself on the ground next to him, with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. How he could make every movement look like an art form, when she just looked like a buffoon, she didn't know. Life just wasn't fair sometimes.

She wrapped her arms around her knees and just stared at her cousin, wishing that she could speak her mind for a change and knowing that she never would. She wasn't brave, like he was. She kept everything bottled up inside of her, too scared to ever let it out. A coward.

James wasn't a coward. As she watched, his lips curved into a half-smile and he asked, "See something you like?"

Fortunately James couldn't see, as Lucy went a bright shade of what was, among the family, known as "Weasley red". Without her brain telling it to, and before she could stop it, her mouth opened and she blurted out, "I wish I were brave like you!"

Immediately afterwards, she clamped her mouth shut, with a hand over it for extra measure, and went, if possible, an even darker shade of red. He was going to think she was an idiot, a ditz, stupid, nosy, retarded... He would laugh at her, and then he'd tell all of his friends and the rest of the family, and they'd dine out on this forever.

"_You know, that Lucy Weasley..."_

"_Yeah, how stupid is she?"_

"_The only Weasley who ever existed that wasn't brave..."_

It was only when James gave a sudden, deep chuckle that she slowly cracked her eyes open again. He was sitting up, now, knees drawn up to his body and arms wrapped around his chest. His face was painted with pure, unadulterated mirth. He gave an image to the phrase "cracking up", one which Lucy would have been pleased to see, had his amusement not been directed at her.

"Oh, goodness..." he breathed in between bursts, when they started to subside. "That's a... good one... You want to... be... brave... _like me_!" And he was off again, looking for all the world like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard in his seventeen years and five months of life.

Lucy summoned up every last vestige of indignation contained in her diminutive body and pasted it onto her face. "Well, I know that was stupid, but there's no need to—to—to be so—ooh!"

He was still laughing, and she wasn't sure he had heard until he gave a gasp and managed to drag himself back under control. His face took on a serious expression, and he told her solemnly, "I'm not brave, Lucy."

Lucy was taken aback. Of course James was brave. He had to be – he was in Gryffindor!

She repeated this sentiment to him, and he laughed. However, it subsided faster than his previous bout of mirth. "You'd be surprised. Gryffindor wasn't the Hat's first choice for me." He grinned in his usual way – the way that broke the hearts of girls of all ages. "I'm far too shrewd for Gryffindor, and not nearly brave enough."

Shrewd, perhaps; he was certainly smart. Lucy considered what other House he could have been in. Not Hufflepuff – loyalty was not a word in James Potter's vocabulary, as far as she knew – but Ravenclaw, perhaps? However, she came up against one block, one which she knew she had to hit upon sooner or later.

"But—but – you saved Roxanne from that raging hippogriff. Surely that was brave!"

It was the story everyone in the family knew; one that was told time and time again at family gatherings. The kind of story that began with "Once upon a time..." and ended with "Happily Ever After." It was one of James's many moments of glory in his life.

It was the story of Roxanne who had gone to the newly opened magical zoo for her seventh birthday. The Potters had happened to come along, as well as several other branches of the family. Lucy hadn't been there, and had only heard about it afterwards, from her little sister Molly, who was a year older than Roxanne.

What had happened, so far as Lucy had been able to piece together, was that a hippogriff had broken free of its keeper, and gone on a rampage. By coincidence, Roxanne had ended up in its path, it was James, then fourteen years old, who had thrown himself in front of her, knocking the seven-year-old away and getting trampled in her stead. He had ended up with a broken arm and three broken ribs, and had had to stay in the hospital for almost a week due to the resulting concussion.

Now, he was sitting in front of her and laughing again.

"That wasn't brave at all," he refuted. At that moment, he turned to face her, and Lucy – ever observant- gazed into his eyes, and noticed—

He may have been laughing on the surface, the loud, buoyant laughter that he was known for, but his eyes were just... dead.

"Well, what was it then?" she asked back, even as she began to doubt whether or not she really wanted to know the answer.

James leaned back again, and stared at the sky for a while. In the distance, a couple of stars were starting to flicker into existence, fragile like candle flames. "I'm not sure if you'll understand," he confided in a low voice. "But then maybe you will. You're different from everyone else."

Lucy took that as a compliment, and decided not to think about its implications. "Thanks, I guess. Anyway, try me. You'd be surprised at how much I can understand." _And how much I can figure out for myself._

"Alright." Lucy was surprised because she had expected James to put up more of a fight than that, but now he was sitting up again and looking at her determinedly. "I didn't rescue Roxanne because I cared, it was more that I didn't care enough."

Lucy blinked.

Seeing her blank expression, he hurried to continue. "Honestly, there aren't many people I really care about. You've probably noticed; I think everyone has. That's why me doing that surprised them so much. But in the end, it wasn't for Roxanne. I couldn't care less whether she got hurt or not. The problem was that I didn't care about myself, either. I didn't care that I would get hurt, or that it was stupid. In fact, I welcomed the pain. I thought maybe it would make me care." He paused. "It didn't, though."

Staring at James in surprise, Lucy found herself agreeing. It hadn't made James care, and to be frank she wasn't sure that anything would. Maybe it just wasn't possible to make him care.

She voiced this thought. "Maybe it's because you can't. Or maybe you just need to find something you feel strongly enough about _to_ care, and that wasn't it."

James looked relieved, though the expression still didn't reach his eyes. He reached over and grasped her wrists. "Thanks, Lucy. I knew you'd understand."

Lucy found herself caught by his eyes. Blue, like Uncle Ron's, but he was so different to Uncle Ron. Uncle Ron was loyal, strong, steady. A rock. James wouldn't know loyalty if it hit him in the face, and the only person he would be strong for was himself.

She also found herself absentmindedly thinking that he was the only one who called her Lucy. Before she could stop herself, she blurted exactly that out. "You know, you're the only person who calls me Lucy."

He looked momentarily confused at the non-sequitur, but collected himself quickly. "What?"

"Everyone else calls me Luce, or Lu, or some other banal nickname. As if my already short name needed shortening even more. I hate it. You just call me Lucy."

"Oh." His face lit up with comprehension for a moment, before he withdrew again. "It just seemed right?"

Lucy shrugged, feeling awkward. "I was just stating."

"Cool." He looked at a loss as to what to say next, but the expression faded quickly, as a sly smirk crossed his face. Leaning in, he whispered conspiratorially, "You know, the Hat actually wanted to put me in Slytherin..."

Lucy could feel his breath, warm on her cheek and ear. She froze, feeling like a caught rabbit. The low tone, the smirk, and the fact that he was almost a foot taller and definitely stronger than her left her feeling inexplicably vulnerable for a moment.

Then James pulled back and the feeling passed. Gathering herself, Lucy asked, "Well then why are you in Gryffindor?"

"Oh, I insisted on being put there. It was expected of me, you see." He was grinning, as if everything was one big joke, as he added, "And, anyway, I always thought you were brave." He paused then and glanced at her sideways from under his hair. Lucy got the distinct feeling that she was being manipulated away from discussing him. "You know, you're a bit of a legend in our family."

She was surprised at that, and it must have shown on her face, because he continued a moment later, "Well, you were the first in the family to not get Sorted into Gryffindor. You broke the tradition. That could be considered awfully brave, don't you think?"

Somehow, Lucy had never considered it that way. She had always thought that she was, in some way, a failure for not being a Gryffindor; that she wasn't good enough to be a part of the family.

"The Hat never considered me for any other House," she admitted shyly, not looking at James. "I didn't really have much of a choice."

"Does it matter? No one knows that," he pointed out. "And you paved the way for everyone else to choose their own paths." There was a certain wistfulness in his voice that made Lucy think he'd have liked that way to have been paved for him, too.

It was true, as well. In the next few years, they had had several non-Gryffindor Weasleys and Potters, including James's younger siblings; Albus was a Slytherin and Lily was a Hufflepuff like Lucy. However, that did not change the fact that she had always thought that James Potter, despite being an arrogant arsehole at the best of times, fit right in with his House. She had always felt that he belonged in Gryffindor, though if asked she probably couldn't have put her finger on why he did so.

She was beginning to understand that, now. Just like she was beginning to understand herself.

The silence started to stretch out when she didn't reply; too busy thinking things through. Distractedly, she reached down to fiddle with a few strands of the long grass they were sitting in, as thoughts of family and Houses flitted through her mind.

Were the Weasleys and Potters really so narrow-minded? After everything she had heard about the Second War, and the old families like the Malfoys and Blacks, she had to wonder – was her family really so different?

Inadvertently, James interrupted her thoughts before they could become too deep.

"Come on," he said suddenly, grabbing Lucy's arm. Lucy looked up in surprise from the grass plait she was weaving.

"What?"

"We ought to go. We need to keep moving, or they'll find us."

Lucy didn't need to ask who "they" was. She had no doubt that the Ministry had already picked up on their stunt and that the school had alerted their parents to their disappearance. Obviously, the same had occurred to James, for he now screwed up his face in concentration, and a moment later they had disappeared.

When they reappeared, Lucy's lungs feeling as if they had been squeezed through a vacuum, the banks of grass and the old-fashioned railway track were gone. They had been replaced by trees. Pine trees, as a matter of fact, spreading out in all directions, in uniform rows. An artificial forest, then.

Once again, she put the question to James.

"Where are we?"

This time, he had an answer. Kicking aside a few pine needles, he bared a log that lay at the foot of one of the trees and sat down on it. Patting the space beside him, he told her, "It's a forest that my Dad took us through once when we went camping when I was nine."

"Oh." Lucy wasn't sure what else there was to say, so she sat down. It was completely dark now, the twilight having faded, but the moon not yet completely risen. The forest was eerie, and she huddled closer to James for comfort.

They sat for a long while in silence, the pensive quiet which had surrounded them in their previous location merely continuing to weave its magic between them. Lucy found herself starting to grow sleepy, as well as a little cold. Despite it being May already, the evenings were still cool.

After the third time she found her head drooping onto James's shoulder, and sat up again abruptly, he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him.

"You can rest for a moment; I don't think we need to move on yet."

Grateful, and lulled a little by the vibrations of his voice through his chest and neck, Lucy huddled closer to her cousin. He was exuding a comforting warmth that she never would have associated with him. She found herself thinking sleepily that after their earlier conversation she probably knew James better now than any of their other cousins.

Or maybe she didn't know anything at all. Maybe she just understood better now. Or did she just know what he wanted her to know? Everything was confused, confusing, mixing up and swirling around in her head. He didn't know her any better either. He just seemed to understand. Maybe they were each taking their image of the other and imposing it on each other.

She didn't know.

One thing was for sure, though; her father had been wrong. Wrong about James. Or maybe right – he was a bad influence. But wrong at the same time, because there was so, so much more to him.

Or was there?

She wasn't sure anymore.

Lucy wasn't sure when she drifted off, nor how long she dozed for, but she woke to James shifting uncomfortably and then shaking her gently. "Lucy," he whispered, very close to her ear. "Oi, c'mon Lucy. Let's walk."

She complied sleepily, and they started winding their way between the trees, silently and with their hands clasped between them. When Lucy was finally awake enough to wonder why they were doing so, she posed the question to James.

The answer came back exactly as she should have expected it: they were doing it for no other reason than because James wanted to.

"And also, it's kind of cold."

Somehow, that satisfied her. Lucy had never been an amazingly curious girl; at least not outwardly. And maybe she was more comfortable with James at the moment than she could ever recall having been with any other family member, but that didn't mean that she was ready to open up. After all, he wasn't either.

So they walked, and walked, and walked. They walked without a care in the world, steadily and silently, until Lucy pulled up for a moment, spooked by the uniformity.

"What if we get lost?"

James laughed quietly; the sound echoed between the trees. "Don't you understand? We are lost!"

Lucy pulled away abruptly, all sleepiness chased away by sharp icicles of fear which seemed to be piercing her skin all the way to the bones underneath. "We're—what?"

He toned down his laughter and reached out to take her hand again. "Don't worry. When we get tired of it, I'll just apparate us to somewhere new."

That calmed her a little, and she allowed him to grip her hand firmly and pull her along again. However, the forest seemed spooky now, every shape an animal waiting to pounce and every noise a monster just out of her sight.

After a while of just walking, James produced a bottle from inside his robes. He let go of her hand for a moment – an action which caused Lucy to press closer into his side and shudder a little – and with a tap of his wand the bottle popped open.

Whether it was the smell or the fizzing noise which gave it away, she wasn't sure, but Lucy instantly recognised the liquid inside.

Fire whiskey.

James took a swig almost casually. Afterwards, he smacked his lips in a way that was reminiscent of their Uncle Ron, and which drew her attention to his lips, to the bobbing of his Adam's apple as he swallowed, and to all sorts of other small things that she observed and filed away in her mind – _the detailed study of the male physique_, or some such nonsense.

He offered her the bottle.

Lucy hesitated for a long time, because her father – and her mother – had often imbued on her the perils of drinking alcohol. It wasn't really something that she had tried before; her parents didn't believe in underage drinking, and she didn't go with the right crowds at school to have the opportunity to try it, either. Not that she'd ever wanted to. No, Lucy Weasley was far too sensible for something like that.

_Sensible?_

That was what did it. Just as James – a surprisingly endearing look of confusion on his face, as if he had never imagined that anyone would say no to alcohol – was about to take the bottle back, she reached over and grasped it firmly.

Their eyes met, and James smirked. The longer she looked – observed – the more Lucy realised that she could see the Slytherin in him. Subtle manipulations and delicate, understated power plays seemed to be his forte, she had noticed.

The longer she hesitated, the less likely she was to do it. Steeling herself determinedly, Lucy took a swig.

It burned, burned terribly as it went down. A flavour that was half alcohol and half _pure magic_, which made her throat burn and her heart feel as if it was going to burst out of her chest.

She wasn't sure if she loved it or hated, so she took another swig to find out.

Chuckling, James confiscated the bottle from her. "Woah, slow down there. You don't want to get too drunk." But he undermined his words with another gulp of his own.

They continued walking, then, and the monsters seemed further away. And if Lucy's legs were wobbling just a little bit, and if she clutched James's hand harder than was absolutely necessary, well, he wasn't in any position to comment on it.

They wandered along, sharing the bottle in slow, languorous sips, as the moon completed its assent above them and lit up the rows upon rows of trees around them. And if James glanced one too many times towards Lucy, or Lucy's glances lingered for just a little too long on James's moonlit profile – then they both pretended not to notice.

They only finished a quarter of the bottle when James decided it was enough and sealed it again, secreting it back into his robes. Lucy protested, but it was a token protest. Sobriety was sacred on this night, which neither of them wanted to ruin. After all, they had come so far up until now.

They continued walking and weaving between the trees, Lucy brushing against them with her hand as she leaned her head on James's shoulder and his arm slipped around her waist.

A bird swooped suddenly in front of them, and Lucy gave a little scream which echoed among the trees. Obligingly, James pulled her to him, though she stiffened at the action.

"James?"

"You're scared," he murmured back. And then, "Can't have that."

And maybe they were a little intoxicated, and maybe this was a lot dangerous, but at that moment it didn't matter to either of them. They disapparated with a crack that echoed long after they were gone.

They finished up in Romania, where dawn was already starting to set in due to the time difference. As a matter of fact, they weren't far from their Uncle Charlie's dragon reserve.

It took Lucy little more than a second to realise this, and her fear took flight immediately on the wings of a wave of new emotion.

"James," she exclaimed breathlessly with a barely suppressed giggle when she could finally feel the ground under her feet, "You've just broken every international apparition law in existence."

James shrugged. "Considering what we did to the main street of Godric's Hollow earlier, I don't think it's going to matter very much."

That was true, Lucy realised. They were probably already facing expulsion. She couldn't quite bring herself to care, though. Everything seemed distant right now.

Instead, she followed James as he left the apparition zone of the dragon reserve and started off along a trail that led, thankfully, away from the dragons, but also away from the cluster of tents they could see in the distance. Lucy knew from the one time she had been brought to see the place that that was where the dragon keepers lived.

The trail led them up a hill, across rough, wild ground. In fact, after a while it petered away into nothing, but James just kept on walking as if it didn't bother him that he had nothing to follow. He seemed to have some destination in mind, so Lucy just followed him, silent but for her gasping breaths.

Eventually, he came to an abrupt stop, steadying her when she almost crashed into him.

"We're here," he told her casually.

Lucy looked around. _Here_ wasn't much, to be honest. Just a little clearing half surrounded by trees, with a couple of rocks that they could sit on. Off to her right, there was a drop; the cliff, which they had skirted around as they climbed.

She walked to the cliff edge and peered down. Far, far below, and a bit off into the distance, she could see the encampment and the reserve. This wasn't part of the reserve; just outside, she realised. When she turned back to ask James about it, she noticed that he was suddenly standing beside her.

He gripped her arm, as if afraid that she was about to pitch herself off the side – not that she would die; magic was fickle that way.

To reassure him, she leant against him. "Romania," she said wondrously, admiring the harsh landscape. There was a certain beauty in the ruins that lay before them – scarred by the fire of the dragons, and barren but for the little, isolated cluster of tents and a few stunted trees. She repeated, "Romania."

If she hadn't really been there, she would have thought that this was a dream.

Maybe it was. Maybe they were still in the forest, and she was still asleep on James's shoulder.

Almost as if he was reading her mind, James leaned over and pinched her side sharply. She flinched, and he chuckled at her pain. "All aboard the runaway train, your number one getaway chance. Final stop: Romania, the land of lost dreams and tormented realities."

It was her turn to laugh, then, as she stepped away from the cliff. By unspoken agreement, it was James who cast a softening charm on the rocks; she didn't want to get nailed for underage magic out here, not when their parents were sure to be out looking for them, and it would give off a sure signal as to their location.

Besides, Lucy thought as she made herself comfortable on one of the rocks, they didn't know the laws here. It was better to be safe than sorry.

They sat quietly, each reminiscing and neither curious enough to ask the other what they were reminiscing about. Well, that was not quite true. Inside of Lucy, there was a war going on; her curiosity versus her shyness. Many a time, she opened her mouth to speak, and then ended up closing it again in cowardice.

Eventually, James caught sight of it. "You are allowed to speak, you know. It's not a crime."

"It's never been a crime before, but one never knows with you," Lucy shot back. A moment later, she clamped a hand over her mouth and flushed in embarrassment, for that was exactly what she had been thinking, and no matter how true her words had been, they still weren't appropriate.

James, however, seemed genetically disinclined to take offence. It was something she had noticed before. Never did he take offence to anything; never did he let his facade slip. Now, he just laughed her off, and for the first time that night Lucy felt the distance that had always existed between them. Suddenly, she couldn't see through his mask.

Then it fell again, and she felt inexplicable relief when she was once more granted passage to his soul.

"I was thinking that you seem to have been here before," she made up, though not entirely dishonestly. She had been thinking that, a while back.

"I have," he replied, though his tone was guarded. "My god-brother, Teddy, works out here, and I come and visit him occasionally."

She was sure that that wasn't all there was to it, and suddenly his words came back to her: _"All aboard the runaway train, your number one getaway chance. Final stop: Romania, the land of lost dreams and tormented realities."_

She decided not to think about it any further; after all, he had already proven that she was not the only one who needed to run away occasionally.

They fell to menial chatter after that, but it felt fake and superficial. There was something in James's eyes that told her that there was more to this than what she was just seeing. The conversation was a farce; it hid something, but she couldn't tell what that something was, and she felt like she was being played.

And if he hadn't been a Gryffindor then she would have said he was the Slytherin playing her.

And soon it all came together.

When Lucy shivered, James cast a warming charm. When she carried on shivering, he turned it up – up and up and up until she was too warm so she took off her robe. In hindsight, she would say that that was probably his intention all along.

Caught in the moment, however, she went with it. After all, she was a Hufflepuff. She was trusting. James was family. He wouldn't do anything to hurt her.

Did she really believe that?

Overall, Lucy thought that it was unsurprising that she slept with him. Maybe that was what the whole evening had been leading up to. Everything they had done until that point; it was all preparation for this one act.

Maybe she was just being ridiculous and poetic, like a thirteen-year-old girl, who felt unjustly handled by the world and wrote badly-written poetry and wore dark colours to express it.

Mostly, she tried to pretend that that hadn't been her.

At any rate, it was certainly the climax of the night – it could hardly be called evening anymore, with dawn creeping slowly across the sky – in more than one way.

James was staring at her with his intense, penetrating blue eyes. And maybe the intensity scared her, but maybe it was also making heat pool inside of her, even as he was slipping his own robe off, and tossing it almost carelessly on the ground, and slipping off of the rock that he was perched on like a Greek God from Muggle mythology—

Lucy knew she had a tendency to ramble when she was nervous.

She stayed sitting where she was, even as he crossed the little clearing, and stood in front of her. Absently, she noted that, sitting as high as she was, she was exactly at the right height – her eyes level with his, and her lips level with his. However, she was too busy noticing the stormy-sky-grey flecks in his eyes, that glinted by the light of his wand, and the way his lips curved ever so slightly, as if he were permanently smiling, and the way his hair almost seemed to caress his forehead...

And then he was gently spreading her legs so that he could stand between them, and she _almost automatically_ wrapped her thighs around his hips.

His lips were on hers, or was it hers on his, and she could taste him – sweet like honey and at the same time bitter like a lemon – and there were sparks and there was pain as he bit her lip, or did she bite it?

And he was pulling her down off the rock, and his hands were sliding under her jumper, and hers were sliding under his shirt, and they stopped to pull her jumper off, and then she went back to the shirt – one button, two, three... – and he was matching her pace, even as he removed her tie, and then her shirt was open and from there everything just seemed to merge into a blur of pleasure and sparks and—

And nothing was as she imagined it to be. There weren't fireworks going off in her head, and she could still see straight, and maybe the stories lied but then again maybe they didn't, because she was pretty sure none of them covered a situation like this, in the open air on the other side of the continent from where she was meant to be, losing her virginity to her cousin, the one person with whom she was never meant to associate, because he was a bad influence.

Or was it because he was a good influence?

She wasn't sure anymore, because everything was muddled and all she could think about was how wrong this was, and how right that made it.

It was not about love, when they got down to it. No, it was about the joining of two souls who were so different that they ended up being similar. Two people who understood without being asked to, who knew when to be quiet and when to speak, who would walk away from this and back to their normal lives, changed. And yet unchanged, because maybe there wasn't anything to change about them. Maybe they were perfect, or at least—

Perfectly imperfect.

Maybe that was the best way to describe it, too. The best way to describe his lips on hers, his tongue in her mouth, and then his lips drifting across her jaw, down her neck, up again to that oh-so-sensitive spot he had discovered by her ear, which made her shudder-shudder-_shudder_...

And maybe it was the way he saw it, too, as she returned the favour, her hands tracing patterns across his chest and shoulders, feeling rather than seeing. Her hands finding the trail of hair that led to—

Her thoughts switching off because this was not something she had ever trained herself to think of. Or did one have to be trained to think of this, because it was just sex, wasn't it? Sex, sex, sex, that taboo word, the one little children laugh at and big children covet, something that was – according to her mother – meant to be sacred.

It didn't feel sacred now. It felt dirty and tactile, sensual. She felt so human, normal, and yet not, like she was different and yet not – the same, somehow.

Like tomorrow she would wake up and be a different person in the same skin, and maybe then she would understand things that she had never understood before. Everything would look clearer, and she would be more forgiving, more understanding, more kind, more generous, more sensible…

More.

Everything she was meant to be.

But now she was caught in the moment, caught in an ecstasy that she had never known before, and somewhere through the heat she could feel – just feel—

And then she reached her peak, and for one moment, which stretched into one million moments, she just forgot to think. She forgot how to think, just rode the moment and came out on the other side, panting for breath, smiling, happy, safe.

There were no words after that. Just James casting cursory charms – contraceptive, and another heating charm, and a softening charm on the ground – then covering themselves up with one of their robes, and then—

And over the horizon, at last, came the early morning sun.

When it was over, they drifted off to sleep, safely ensconced in each other's arms. Lucy's dreams were filled with strange images, half remembered fragments of this, that and the other – a war she never experienced, a fight she may or may not have gotten into, dance classes when she was little, wandering through the forest with James, arguing with her sister, playing Quidditch with her cousins, and more.

They were sometimes turbulent, sometimes serene, and perhaps the only thing that kept her asleep was the fact that she was tired.

Meanwhile, the sun tracked its way up in the sky, painting it first red, then pink, then giving way to blue as it settled in among the clouds to look down on the day. And on the other side of the continent, far, far away, a search group picked up on a new clue, another broken rule, and came nearer to their goal.

And the next morning Lucy woke up slowly, still in James Potter's arms, and realised that it was Saturday. Saturday had none of the magic of Friday, the magic which had carried them through the night. However, it had its own magic, one that was soothing and yet strange, something foreign which she had never experienced before.

For a long time, Lucy just lay there, still half asleep, the last vestiges of her dreams still trapping her. Absentmindedly, her eyes traced James's features, where he lay in front of her, still fast asleep. James asleep was completely different to James awake, she realised. Awake, he was all hard edges, quick-fire wit, knife-edged sarcasm. Defensive – she made the connection in her half sleeping state. It was as if he was defending himself from something. But from what?

From the world.

The answer came to her easily, her brain making connections that she had never even considered before. After all, it was James. James, Harry Potter's son, named after two of the most revered people in history. James Sirius Potter, Gryffindor, super-intelligent, brave, chivalrous. For all intents and purposes the perfect Gryffindor and the perfect son.

And yet, wasn't she for all intents and purposes the perfect Hufflepuff? And yet here she was.

She turned back to her companion. Far from the hardness of his waking form, when he was asleep James seemed almost... innocent. There was a smile on his face, small but noticeable. With closed eyes, he lost a lot of the intensity he seemed to carry around with him. His hair flicked around him like a halo – a dark halo. _Fallen angel_, the phrase flitted through her mind.

She almost laughed at her own poetics.

However, she was suddenly seeing, understanding what attracted so many people to James Potter, like moths to a flame. There was so much more to him than she had ever thought – ever wanted to think.

She wondered; did he think the same thing about her?

In the end, she knew, there was no point in getting sentimental. This was as much an escape for him as it was for her, and all good – and bad – things had to come to an end sometime.

Eventually, Lucy pried herself from her sleeping cousin's arms. The heating charms of the previous night had worn off sometime whilst they slept, and she was shivering. Crossing the clearing, she collected her discarded clothes and, with little thought to privacy in this isolated place, she pulled them on.

And that was when she was startled by someone suddenly clearing their throat.

She managed to hold down a scream, but her heart was pounding as she whirled around to face the source, hand on her wand and shaking like a leaf in the wind.

It was Teddy.

Teddy Lupin was not someone she knew well; that was more the area of the Potters and Victoire. No one else was allowed to get close to him, as if he were private property of some kind. It was not as if Lucy had ever tried, though she had appreciated his presence from afar. He was easy on the eyes, but he was also a kind soul, and a Hufflepuff if she ever saw one, even though he had been Sorted into Gryffindor in his day.

Now, however, he wasn't looking much like a Hufflepuff at all.

"Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?"

And suddenly, Lucy had a reason to be shaking like a leaf.

Teddy woke James who, after a moment of almost endearing confusion, dressed himself and cast a freshening charm on himself – and on Lucy after she shot him a pleading look. At the same time, she could easily see him hardening himself, fixing his mask back on and closing off back to the James Potter she had known for the past almost-seventeen years before the previous day.

Finally, James was ready. Without speaking, he stood beside Teddy, glaring. Teddy didn't seem perturbed by his behaviour, however. Lucy judged that it was probably something he was used to – hadn't Teddy lived with the Potters for a while?

Unperturbed apparently did not mean that he was any less angry, for that was exactly what he was. So angry, and she had to wonder if it was his own anger or just anger on behalf of someone else.

"Come here," he told her sharply, and Lucy complied. He grabbed her arm in one hand, and took James's in the other.

The way back down the hill was uncomfortable. Teddy frog-marched them ruthlessly, dragging Lucy when she faltered. The path was too narrow for three across, so often she found herself walking in the undergrowth instead, or stumbling along behind Teddy with her arm twisted at an uncomfortable angle.

Nevertheless, their destination was clear, and it came as no surprise to Lucy that when they reached level ground they started back towards to reserve.

What did come as a surprise to her was who was waiting for them. Standing around at the entrance to the reserve were several people – Charlie Weasley, a couple of people she didn't recognise, but who wore either the scarlet robes of aurors or had the physique of a dragon-keeper, and a livid looking Harry Potter.

It took a mastery of an effort not to show her fear at that one. At least her father wasn't there.

Teddy dragged them over and stopped when they were standing exactly in front of the group. "I found them," he announced, and Lucy felt a cold shock of fear run over her. _Please don't reveal the details of how you found us_, she pleaded mentally.

He didn't, thankfully. Instead, he just threw the two of them forwards so that they had to stumble to regain their balance. Lucy concluded that it must have been, at least in part, his own anger that he was exhibiting.

Harry Potter was looking at them, down at them – well, down at Lucy because she was so short, but up at James because he was actually taller than his father now, and how had Lucy never noticed that before?

Just like she had never noticed how intimidating Harry Potter could be – though there was an explanation for that, and that was because he had never been angry at her before.

And Harry was truly annoyed, angry, furious. Even if they weren't going to be expelled – and they still might be – then there would be points lost and detentions and parent-teacher conferences about their little – big – stunt, and when they got home they were going to be grounded forever, and he was going to have to pull a heck of a lot of strings to get them out of trouble with the Ministry, and at the moment he wasn't even sure why he should, and...

Eventually, Lucy tuned him out. She was sure that she was going to hear this lecture more than once, and by the end of this debacle she would probably know it off by heart anyway, so why should she bother listening to it now?

And, anyway, she had more pressing issues to deal with right now, like the fact that she couldn't quite bring herself to care, and that maybe, just maybe, she was beginning to understand what James had meant when he told her – or did he ever tell her? – about not knowing how to care.

Did that mean he had infected her?

Or just taught her how to brush things off, let them bounce off of her outer shield that had never been there before, or maybe she had always had it and just never realised?

But maybe not caring was a good thing right now, and anyway everything was just fading into the background as she focussed on James, who was smirking like a Slytherin and saying, in answer to some question she hadn't heard, in a tone too innocent to be plausible, "We just wanted to know what it was like to be Death Eaters."

This, it seemed, was the last straw for Harry. He launched into an angry tirade that included a variety of different punishments, each more creative than the last, and a detailed breakdown of every single crime they had – and occasionally had not – committed.

The rant was largely focussed on James, however, Harry barely seemed to be seeing either of them, Lucy noted. His focus was completely obliterated by his anger, and when James edged closer to Lucy he didn't seem to notice at all.

It may have just been the Gryffindor trusting in him, however, that led him to think that neither of them would be so stupid as to pull something else _now_.

Lucy suppressed a laugh at that thought.

And then James was looking over at her and laying a firm hand on her shoulder, ignoring all of the protests from the adults.

"Shall we get out of here?" he whispered into her ear.

And then there was nothing else left for Lucy to do other than nod determinedly and take the proffered hand. Harry Potter was mid-rant, but they weren't going to be hearing the rest of it because at that moment, in the middle of his angry tirade—

They disappeared, leaving behind only the crack of apparition to show that they had ever been there.

Where they reappeared, Lucy didn't know, but it wasn't the time for questions, because they were already apparating again, and she knew they were just leaving a trail for James's father to follow, to lead him off track.

"Where are we going?" she asked breathlessly when they finally came to a halt.

James grinned irresistibly. "Wherever we want to."

"Oh." And then another question; "When will we go back?"

He shrugged. "Oh, I expect we'll get tired of this soon enough. Say, the end of the weekend?"

Now, it was Lucy's turn to smirk, an expression she must have learned from James over the last night, because she had never used it before. "That sounds just perfect."

And so they apparated again, and hiked for a while, and found the best hiding places, bought breakfast in a village in France, lunch in Spain, dinner in Germany...

And, okay, so maybe she was going to get into more trouble after today than she ever had before in her whole life. But maybe she was okay with that. After all, Lucy had found out something new today; lots of things, actually. And she had James Potter here to help her with things now, and somehow, that just made everything okay.

All wasn't right in the world, but maybe it didn't need to be.

THE END

* * *

Story Notes: I can't actually believe that I'm posting this.

There are two and a half years between me and this story now. I wrote it back when I was seventeen, and I can't believe how much time has passed between now and then. I dithered for a long time about posting it, before eventually just leaving it to gather dust on my hard drive. I was proud of it in the beginning, but as time wore on I realised that it very much reflected my mood and mental state at the time – a bit insane and very stressed out. I'm glad I waited to post it, because I can look at it objectively now and say that things have changed since then. (Okay, not that much. I'm still totally mental.)

I um-ed and ah-ed about whether or not to edit it, and in the end I just read it through and took out some of the more obnoxious mistakes. It was tempting to rewrite the sex scene, but I decided that I would leave the story as it was, as I originally intended to write it.

For what it's worth, a little bit about the conception of the story: My word-counter tells me that it's 10,072 words, and I wrote it all in one sitting (well, one afternoon, late into the night, before sleeping a bit and then picking it up again in the morning), and pretty much in order, from start to finish. I was supposed to be revising for my exams at the time, but exam revision is something that has never gone smoothly for me… Anyway, I got the relevant marks and got into university, so who cares that I didn't revise properly?

Well, I hope that at least someone enjoyed this little outburst of my psyche. Sorry it's been so long since I last posted!


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